I've been wondering why ice cream tastes so much better when you eat it with someone else. Especially the Sugar Daddy. Is it the way he purses his lips and swipes his tongue across the roof of his mouth? He likes to savor. The man loves his sweets. He's not called The Sugar Daddy because of money.
Sometimes when I eat something super delicious it relaxes my body. My shoulders fall and my eyes close. And when I open them, there are my babies. Mouths open. Squawking.
I love to feed my little birds like this. They stand on their tippy toes. They smile between each bite. There are so few ways to make children so happy so fast. Ice cream is like milky frozen serotonin in a cone.
When I was little, I loved to buy a treat from the ice cream truck. I don't remember being told no. The answer was always yes. We'd hear the music in the distance and race for the house to get money from our parents. It's such a happy memory for me.
The ice cream truck that comes around our neighborhood is pretty sketchy. It looks like it drove up from Tijuana. The driver may or may not be on the work release program. I say no.
And I feel terrible about it. Why can't it be the same as when I was little?
I began stocking the freezer with various frozen treats in an attempt to alleviate my guilt at withholding happy memories from my kids.
But last year the Sugar Daddy bought a shave ice machine. At first I was skeptical of the large cumbersome machine. But I have been won over. Wholeheartedly.
My kids happy Summer memories might not include the ice cream man, but they will be of their dad, cranking his big green machine. Shaving off happiness.
Stumble It!
